clear
by Charged as Guilty
Summary: And then he found himself crying.


He winced, biting his lip and gripping tightly onto Adachi's hand as the doctor prodded his face with the needle. The anaesthetic numbed the pain, but he could still feel it working it's way through his skin. The wound went from his temple to under his jaw—this was going to take awhile.

"I-Is it too late to ask to be put under?" he whimpered under his breath, swallowing heavily as a lump of nervousness appeared in his throat.

"A little late for that, yes," the doctor chuckled, and Souji pouted, trying to keep himself distracted as he continued to feel the man sew up his wound.

He knocked his heels together and tapped his fingers tightly against Adachi's hand. He found himself unable to look the older man in the eye, scared of looking at all of his wounds—the black eye, the broken nose, the broken arm, the cracked ribs. He came out of it with two broken fingers, whiplash, and a laceration on his face. He felt guilty—like he deserved the bigger injuries—like the whole thing was his fault. It wasn't, and it wasn't Adachi's either, but there was still the pit in his stomach urging him to say this was his doing.

Minutes of silent conversation passed, Souji continuing to click his heels together past the quiet, eyes darting around the room as he tried to focus on something, only to see the doctor in one corner of his eye and Adachi in the other. It was disorienting. He was finding it uncomfortable how close the doctor was to him, his senses blaring danger when he had to lower himself to start closing the wound down his jaw. It took all he could not to jolt away and cause further damage. Adachi somehow managed to keep both a firm, yet gentle, grip on his hand. Something seemed... off... He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying not to scrunch up his face in discomfort as his face continued to get sewn shut. Off, off, what was off... He was trembling.

Adachi was trembling.

Slowly opening his eyes, he glanced to Adachi and felt his heart drop. He was looking vacantly at the floor, eyes lost the world and he could see the man's bottom lip quivering. Perhaps it was the contrast from the darkness of his injured eye, or the redness from the small wounds along his face, but the man looked so absolutely pale and distant—like he was far off in another world. He could feel Adachi's grip around his hand, gentle, yet firm, and trembling.

How had he not noticed before?

He loosened his grip, scared he was hurting the other man. Adachi perked up at the action, glancing at him and giving him a short, small smile before he grimaced in pain. Souji wondered if his heart had fallen into hell yet, the guilt piling up in his system he didn't even pay attention when the doctor started informing him on how to take care of the stitches and how not to agitate the splint on his fingers. He kept his focus on Adachi's hand, running his thumb along the man's hand as they slowly stood up and thanked the man. There was a moment before the doctor opened the door, Adachi quietly slipping his hand out of Souji's, the younger man fidgeting with the air before digging his hands into the hem of his shirt.

He wanted to grab his hand again, hold it, focus on nothing but keeping Adachi close. When the door opened and he saw Dojima and Nanako jump to attention, he knew he couldn't. They didn't know. Nobody did. Maybe they'd say something two years from now, but would they be so used to the silence and secrecy, they wouldn't be able to live any other way?

Nanako started bawling the second she laid eyes on him, her wobbly legs barely able to get her over to give him a hug, and Dojima glared before it softened into a look of concern.

"C'mon, let's get you two home." He looked to his daughter and smiled softly before pulling her away from Souji, reassuring her softly, "He'll be fine, Nanako. We have to get him home to rest, and he can't walk with you clinging to him."

The girl whimpered, furiously rubbing her eyes as she hiccuped past her quiet sniffles. She resorted to gripping the back of her father's shirt as they walked slowly down the hall of the hospital, only to pause when the doctor called after them and pulled Dojima to the side to talk to him, Nanako hovering behind him.

Souji watched them briefly before his attention was turned back to Adachi, the younger man absentmindedly pulling on the end of Adachi's sleeve. He could feel the detective's eye on him, but he found himself unable to look him in the face, diverting his attention to the floor as the pangs of guilt stabbed him over and over.

He wanted to say something— _anything—_ but nothing came to his jumbled mind. All he could do was hang on loosely to the man's shirt, his throat dry and his mind numb. He could feel his face tingle with discomfort from the stitching, the anaesthetic still hanging strong, but he knew it'd wear off and he'd be a crying mess at the pain. How much pain would Adachi be in—how much pain was he in now? Three busted ribs, a broken nose, a broken arm—how did he get it so much worse? Souji was on the side that got hit, why did he come out with less injuries?

He could feel Adachi's gaze still fixated on him—he could feel the worry, the confusion, the love, the concern. He wanted to say something—anything—but he couldn't think of anything. All he wanted to do was kiss him, hug him, never let him go.

He tensed at his uncle's presence behind him, Adachi lightly pulling his arm away to fiddle with his coat that hung hazardously over the shoulder to his broken arm. Dojima sighed, leafing through papers he didn't have before, and Souji figured the doctor gave them to him. Instructions, he presumed.

"There's a lot I want to ask," the man mumbled, clicking his tongue as they started down the hall again. "But I know neither of you are up to it right now."

There was a short silence before he sighed again, "Adachi, I don't feel comfortable leaving you at home alone like this. We can stop by your place and pick up some essentials, but I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer. You're staying with us tonight."

Adachi paused so suddenly, Souji bumped into him, the two fumbling for a moment before straightening out. The teen winced and turned to hide his face from his relatives, trying to ignore the throbbing from the stitches as they questioned if he was okay.

"Dojima-san, I can't do that," Adachi replied, voice dry and cracking. Souji noticed his quick glance in his direction before it directed back to the eldest. "I mean, I-I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I can't—"

"I just said I wasn't taking 'no' for an answer, Adachi. You're in no condition to be alone right now."

"But, sir, I—I..." Adachi stumbled over his words, stuttering before it finally dissolved into a pained smile. "Thank you..."

"If you need a pillow, Adachi, I'll let you borrow mine! It's really comfy and nice, but you can only borrow it!" Nanako chimed in, continuing to hover behind her dad.

Souji watched Adachi's eyes light up briefly, the light tone in his voice as he thanked her was enough to make him smile in turn. The rest of the trip through the hospital was silent between the four of them, Nanako humming quietly to herself and glancing at the injured men from time-to-time, concern flooding her face before she turned back to watch where they were walking. Souji knew his cousin was confused and wanted to ask what happened, and he knew Dojima was trying to hide the fact it was a car crash. There was a thick air surrounding Dojima, but there was a lightness to it, too. Was he thinking about Chisato?

Souji bit his lip, absentmindedly bringing a finger to scratch an itch on his cheek only to pause when he realized it was the stitches. He pouted, becoming aware that the freezing was already starting to wear off—his face throbbing in resistance. Soon, the pain would be there. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

The car ride was just as quiet. Dojima had the radio on, but had the volume lowered. Nanako was sitting in the front, and Souji had found himself having to help Adachi put his seatbelt on. They hadn't been paying attention to the sides they entered, only realizing as the detective tried, and failed, to put it on with his good arm that was closest to it. He could feel Adachi watching him the entire while, could feel the man's eyes tracing the stitches running down his face, could hear the tremble in a heavy breath, feel it from the closeness.

He could feel Adachi glance at him throughout the car ride, could feel him continuing to trace the stitches along his face. He found his breathing coming out heavy and deep the more times Adachi looked at him. He wanted to look back, meet his boyfriend's gaze, but he found his heart pounding in pain at the thought. Looking at him hurt—he could feel the guilt eating him away. He had nothing to apologize for, but all he wanted to do was say he was sorry, over and over and over again.

They stopped outside Adachi's apartment complex, him and Dojima leaving to grab some of his things. He found himself watching as they walked up the stairs, before they disappeared from sight, staring off into the distance as he suddenly tried to focus on the hushed radio.

And then he found himself crying.

Sobbing.

Unable to speak as his cousin turned and looked behind her chair, wildly asking what was wrong. He could hear her unbuckle her seatbelt and open the door, calling for her dad. He continued to cry, his quaking sobs drowning out the radio and filling the night with his anguish. The anaesthetic was almost gone, his face pulsing in agony as he strained it with his sobs, fingers in the splint protesting, head reeling and stomach cornering him with nausea. His chest felt like it was on fire, his head felt like it was going to split open—technically, it already had.

They could have died.

It was the sudden realization of this that had sent him spiralling into a crying mess. It hadn't even cornered his mind, not during the accident while they were stuck in the car, not after when they were getting carted away in ambulances, not even while paramedics and doctors and nurses fussed over them both. Was that what Adachi was thinking about when he looked so distant to the world? Was that what Adachi was thinking about when he traced the stitches on his face?

He found himself being pushed up, and found the seatbelt zipping back into it's resting place before he was pulled out of the car and into a hug. He found himself howling and crying into his uncle's shirt, leg's shaking under him as the man held him tightly, running hands through his hair and murmuring that everything would be okay. He could hear a crack in his uncle's voice. He could feel Nanako as she grabbed onto him and hugged him, too. He could feel Adachi's gaze, and he knew the man was crying, too.

The rest of the night was a haze. He barely recollected anything that happened after they got home. Maybe he fell asleep, he wasn't sure, all he knew was that he was staring up at the ceiling, his face and fingers and neck pulsing fire through his being. He'd just taken some painkillers an hour ago, but they hadn't helped in the slightest. His breaths came out tired and heavy, clicking his feet together as he continued to look at the ceiling in misery.

There was a series of light knocks on his door, and he mustered a short answer. He watched as it opened, Adachi peering inside before hesitantly entering and closing the door behind him. He watched the man's hesitant strides as he walked towards him, observed the fact he wasn't wearing a shirt—the bruises on his chest standing out so harshly against his pale skin, he found himself wracked with guilt as he couldn't look away. Silently, Adachi sat down on the edge of the futon, Souji slowly lifting himself into a sitting position, hugging his knees to his chest as Adachi sighed roughly.

They stayed like that, basking in each other's grief, sharing glances of pained looks, of guilted looks and harsh worries. His mind was spiralling miles a minute as his focus darted from his boyfriend's bruised chest, to his broken arm, to his battered face. Adachi couldn't stop looking at the stitches running from his temple to his jaw. The older man shifted, sitting in front of Souji, bringing his good hand to grasp onto one of his. They both glanced down, Souji watching Adachi run his thumb along the back of his hand, feeling the gentleness, the softness of the touch. His hand started to travel along his arm, before he found Adachi lightly cupping his cheek until he started stroking his fingers through his hair as to not disturb the stitches.

He could hear Adachi's breathing in their silence.

He could hear them start to tremble.

Shifting to sit on his knees, Souji leaned forward, cupping Adachi's face in his hands. He couldn't look away—the guilt was hitting him like a tidal wave as he looked into Adachi's haunted eyes. They were misted over with tears. He closed his eyes and leaned in, Adachi resting his hand on the nape of his neck. He could feel his trembling breath on his lips before they kissed.

And then he could feel Adachi's lips trembling, his body shaking as he pulled away, tears running down his face.

"I love you."

The words cut through the atmosphere like fire, and Souji couldn't stop his own tears from falling. He closed his eyes again, Adachi pulling him into more kisses, all of them filled with desperation.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

It was the first time either one of them had said those words, and Adachi couldn't stop repeating them. He wanted to repeat them himself, but his tongue was tied past his crying and the kisses and the pain and the guilt. All he could see past his tears was the terrified love in Adachi's eyes.

All he could do was kiss him again, neither of them pulling away even when they heard the door open.


End file.
